What a Christmas present! A trip to the Rose Bowl—plane, hotel in Beverly Hills, tickets to the Rose Bowl Parade and game—courtesy of my dad. He booked us through Collegiate Athletic Travel, flying direct from Harrisburg to Los Angeles. I couldn’t wait. Every time I thought about it, I had to go to the CAT Web site and listen to “Hail to the Lion.”
Right before Christmas Joe came down with a bad cold, so the holiday came and went pretty quietly. By Saturday he still wasn’t feeling great so we went to the doctor. I was concerned he might not be able to fly (the whole air pressure during landing/eardrum problem I knew other people had experienced). The doctor said Joe would be fine to fly.
Just by my writing this, you know he wasn’t. We got up at 3:45 a.m. on Monday, drove to the airport, stood in line for our boarding passes, watched the local TV stations interviewing people in full Penn State regalia, moved through Security without a hitch. Got to the boarding area and realized our seats were not together. Five hours not sitting together? We didn’t like that. I sat two-thirds of the way back, Joe sat in the fourth row. Long flight but (after running through airports on the way to and from Wyoming in the spring) it was nice not to have to worry about connecting flights. I had a great time talking to a couple from Shoemakersville.
The landing seemed to take forever. When I deplaned, I saw Joe on the tarmac, clearly not himself. He told me he had had 40 minutes of “excruciating pain” (this stoic man who rarely lets on to anything) during the landing. Clearly he had a serious sinus infection. His ears were completely blocked, his head ached, he was as miserable as I’ve ever seen him.
We took the tour bus to our hotel. Even though it was only 9 a.m., our room was ready. While Joe rested I stopped at the front desk to ask where a drugstore was so that I could get some over-the-counter meds and juice. The clerk told me (rather abruptly) that I should speak to the concierge about that. (I would have gone to him first, but he was busy and I was very worried about my husband.) With the concierge’s very pleasant help, I found the drugstore easily. I also called our doctor back home, hoping for a prescription to be phoned in. The receptionist said we’d get a call back.
Joe napped for a while. He felt a little better when he got up, and I know he was thinking that he was ruining my week, so we headed out. For lunch we stopped at the Beverly Deli, a short walk from the hotel. Joe had a turkey sandwich (the waitress kept trying to give him something to replace the cole slaw he didn't want) and I had their "world-famous tuna melt." Not what I expected--it was more like a grilled tuna-salad sandwich. When Joe got up for a minute, the woman at the next table told me I had a "Kathy Baker thing going on." I said, as I smiled, "No, I'm just thinking of an author I'd like to kill." (FYI to readers: That's an editor joke.)
After lunch we picked up the rental car (the clerks at Beverly Hills Budget Rent-a-car were great!) and drove down Wilshire Boulevard to the La Brea Tar Pits while we waited to hear from the doctor. Under different circumstances, we would have stayed longer. Parking was difficult (think Christmas break and parents entertaining their kids), but we finally found a lot with open spaces. The Tar Pits is actually the George C. Page Museum on the site of the Rancho La Brea tar pits, with “largest and most diverse assemblage of extinct Ice Age plants and animals in the world” (from their Web site). We saw mammoth (as in Wooly) and saber-tooth cats (as in the Flintstones) skeletons. Very cool. In one section visitors can see archaeologists at work, cleaning things they found in the tar. I saw a mouse bone smaller than splinters I’ve had.
We left slightly before 4. The doctor’s office hadn’t yet called, so I called them again. The receptionist assured me that someone would call me back. We drove back to the hotel and I decided to ask someone where the nearest hospital was. (Note: From now on, we will always know where the local hospital is, on any trip we take.) While Joe waited in the car, I went to the concierge desk. I asked where the hospital was and the concierge said she’d have the hotel doctor come to our room. When I said, “Will he take our insurance?” she wrinkled her nose and said, “You’ll have to take that up with him.” Granted, I was very stressed: my husband was ill, I’d been up since the middle of the night, and we were in a strange city. But I did expect her to be more helpful.
We left the hotel and went to the drugstore I’d been in earlier. The pharmacist told Joe that there weren’t any hospitals in the area but we could call a local physicians’ group (she gave us the number) and they might be able to help. When Joe called them, the receptionist said, “How did you get this number?” Even in our stress, we had to laugh at that. She told us to go to Cedars-Sinai Hospital. Of course! Where all the stars go!
I called the hospital but their automated directions were for people who knew whether or not they were coming from the San Fernando Valley, so with the help of the map provided by the rental-car company, we found the hospital. (It wasn't that far away.) I dropped Joe off at the ER entrance and went in search of parking. When I came out of the parking garage, I had no idea which direction the hospital was. I must have looked terribly lost because a woman asked if she could help me. I asked her what street I was on and where the hospital was. With her (and one other person’s) help, I found Joe.
I cannot say enough good about the ER at Cedars-Sinai. Everyone was extremely helpful, professional, and pleasant. Joe was out within 1.5 hours and yes, of course, they took our insurance. We ate at Mulberry Street Pizza while his prescriptions (eardrums intact, but conjunctivitis on top of that sinus infection!) were filled at Rite-Aid Beverly Hills. We collapsed in our beautiful, restful hotel room, really glad to see the day end.
